The house was blissfully silent. No arguing, no footsteps, no slamming doors—just you, finally alone. With the rare gift of privacy, you locked your door, slid beneath your sheets, and let your mind drift somewhere far more sinful.

Your thoughts wandered, as they often did, to him—Satan. That sharp, refined voice, the way his eyes lit up when he was angry or intrigued, and how his restraint only made you wonder how it would feel if he lost control with you.

Your fingers moved slowly, teasing, building warmth and tension as you whispered his name under your breath.

Then—

SLAM.

“MC, you will not believe the absolute idiocy I just witnessed—!”

Satan stormed into your room mid-rant, completely forgetting to knock. His voice halted the moment he saw you—half-buried under the sheets, breathless, skin flushed, and your expression frozen in shock.

Silence.

His emerald eyes widened, flicking from your face to the telltale movement under the blanket. You were too stunned to even cover yourself.

A heartbeat passed. Then another.

And then—he smiled.

Not a teasing smirk like Mammon’s or a flirty grin like Asmo’s. No, Satan’s smile was slow, knowing… dangerous.

“So,” he said softly, tone laced with amusement and something darker, “this is how you spend your time alone.”

You finally yanked the blanket up, flustered beyond reason, but his gaze didn’t waver.

“Don’t stop on my account,” he murmured, stepping closer, his voice like velvet laced with a growl. “I’m not upset. Just… curious.”

He sat on the edge of your bed, tilting his head. “Were you thinking of me, MC?”

He leaned in close, breath brushing your ear.

“Next time, let me in first. I’d love to see you unravel properly.”